Welcome Home
by socks-lost
Summary: A post 4x04/Killer in High Heels story. Spoilers for that episode. One-shot. Fluff.


**A/N: **I originally put this on tumblr a few days ago. I cleaned it up a bit and fleshed out the ending so I thought I'd post the 'official' version here.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. No money. And spoilers for 4x04.

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Jane finds herself standing in Maura's kitchen staring into the depths of the steaming pot in front of her with a furrowed brow and squinty eyes.

It's spaghetti. Simple, plain spaghetti with store bought sauce she picked up on her lunch break. This, she knows, is a travesty in her mother's eyes but she didn't feel up to asking her mother (looking at her mother, talking to her mother, being in the same room as her mother…) for the recipe she always forgets to memorize. But generic spaghetti is better than olives and ketchup…better than prison food.

At the word her stomach turns into knots as she grimaces and tightens her hold on the wooden spoon. An image of Maura in that orange jumpsuit standing in line lonely and out of place to get some form of sustenance flashes in her mind. And for a moment that's all she can see. Maura in that jumpsuit, panicked, alone, confused, bruised. All she can hear is _get me out of here, Jane._

One shaky breath eases past her mouth as she tries to calm her nerves. She licks her lips and closes her eyes softly.

_One._

She mouths the word as her brain works in what if's and worst case scenarios, a dangerous game that always seems more-so with Maura involved.

_Two._

The wooden spoon rattles against the bottom of the pan from unsteady hands. Her white knuckled grip on the utensil loosens briefly before letting go completely to pinch the bridge of her nose. Maura is upstairs in the shower, shaken but fine, but somehow that thought doesn't calm her.

_Three._

She should've stayed with Maura. Why didn't she stay?

_Four._

She hates her job for forcing her into such an impossible situation. She hates herself for leaving. And she even hates her mother for showing Cavanaugh that video.

"Jane?" A soft sound comes from behind her along with a soft voice.

The brunette turns just in time to see Maura lean against the wall her arms lightly crossed in front of her. She is standing there barefoot, in flannel bottoms, a faded Boston PD shirt. And it doesn't take a detective.

Hazel eyes meet hers briefly and in that second-long glance Jane has forgotten how to say the words.

_I'm sorry.  
I love you.  
Forgive me?_

Maura's damp hair sticks to her forehead at odd angles. Jane shoves her hands into her pockets to keep from reaching out.

The silence is deafening.

"I made dinner." Jane says after a moment her voice raspy and fractured.

Maura doesn't meet her eyes, instead they stay fixed somewhere on the tile between them. "I'm not that hungry."

And Jane knows that's code for something but her eyes are glued to the fading bruises on pale forearms, to the swollen and bruised eye that looks so much worse without cover up.

The words get caught behind her teeth, on the tip of her tongue. But she has always been a woman of action, rather than a talker anyway. She steps forward hands unsheathed from pockets.

Maura sighs at her touch, turns her face into the warmth Jane has offered. She can feel the deceptive softness of Jane's fingers, the roughness of the scar in the middle of her palm right alongside her cheek. Then those fingers leave her face and her eyes lull shut. The slow trace of Jane's hands down her neck and over her shoulder makes her shiver. She hopes Jane doesn't notice the goose bumps across her skin. Here and now, she doesn't care about dinner. She doesn't care about prison. She just wants this, forever.

The movement stops.

Maura's eyes slide open slowly. Jane is standing so close she can smell her perfume, can feel every breath she takes. And she wants to reach up with her own hands and smooth out the lines across Jane's forehead, she wants to kiss the corner of her mouth and whisper reassuring things. But before her exhausted brain can think of words to make it better Jane lifts her arm a little. Maura's eyes fall half-closed and her breath gets caught in her throat when soft lips touch her skin. The first kiss is barely hesitant as she pauses briefly over a faded bruise.

Maura vaguely remembers Angela saying something to TJ about kissing it better, and she wonders if that's what Jane is trying to do. If so it's working - if only in a psychosomatic way. Jane's lips move to her other arm and she feels warm and full and she never wants to let those feelings go.

"Jane." Her mouth moves without permission and the name escapes her lips like a breathy sigh.

The woman stands back at full height, eyes searching for forgiveness, for understanding, for _something._ Her hand hovers behind Maura's head over her shoulder, unsure of where she should place it. She wants to touch everywhere, wants to put it right over Maura's heart and feel the _thump-thump _of a steady beat. She wants…and her eyes look right at the bruise around Maura's eye. She blinks. "I'm sorry." The words fall from her mouth in fractured syllables and broken structure. The pad of her thumb lightly sweeps across the swollen skin for a moment before being replaced by another kiss. "I'm so sorry." Her lips stay pressed there as her nose rests against her temple. The hovering hand finally found a place to land at Maura's waist. She holds her close, like if she doesn't she'll slip right through her fingers.

Maura's not sure who needs this more, herself or Jane.

_It's okay_.  
_It's not your fault_.  
_You were just doing your job._

The sentences cross her mind, but they don't feel right. Nothing feels right but this. Jane feels right. Opting out of useless words Maura slinks her arms around Jane's waist, around her back pulling her as close as she can. Jane is still in her work boots, so her head rests perfectly underneath her chin, against her chest. She can hear the steady thrum of her heart beating just underneath bone and tissue.

Solid and steady – like Jane.

Like home.

When Jane pulls away – not completely, but enough to look at her face – their eyes lock. Jane's eyes are wide and open like _let me _and _please _and _I'm sorry_.

And Maura wants to say those words - it's not her fault, that none of this is either of their faults. She wants to reassure and soothe but she is caught in a tidal wave of emotion, caught in the murky waters of deep brown eyes and loose definitions of what they are and _she went to jail._

Nothing seems adequate.

It takes her a moment to decide on a course of action, but when she does she knows exactly what she's going to do. Maura leans on her tip-toes grasping at Jane's bicep for leverage. She places a soft, barely-there kiss at the corner of Jane's mouth. "Thank you for saving me." She stays there long enough to feel the slight upturn of Jane's lips. She puts her head back in its place – against Jane's chest, underneath her chin, ear just over the beating of her heart and sighs contently. And it's here that Maura realizes her hands are still at the small of Jane's back, still grasping her shirt in handfuls.

It's going to wrinkle, but she doesn't let go.

Jane's arms wrap around her tighter and she feels Jane's lips press against her temple. "Welcome home, Maur."

She nods into Jane's chest, a small smile on her face.

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**A/N: **Thanks for reading!


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